I'm Trying
by TrashFan
Summary: High School AU. As Dean stands panting with frustration in the motel room, he thinks for a second about how he and Sam had wound up in such a shitty situation, and why he was too blind to piece it together. Hurt/Comfort/Confession story, trigger warning for dark topics. Rated for language.


Standing in the middle of the room, panting and swearing, Dean doesn't know who he's more frustrated with – his brother for hiding his problem for so long, or himself for being blind to it. He strides over to the wall and delivers a swift punch, denting the plaster and cracking his knuckles. He had been such an idiot. Thinking back on the last month or so, Dean felt like a moron. There had been so many signs. Was he really oblivious to them, or had he chosen to ignore the red flags? Scattered memories of the times he'd failed Sam began to float through his mind.

A month ago. Dean set the pan of bacon down on the Formica countertop with a sigh. He was thinking about his newfound situation outside of school. For the most part, he loved not having to jump through the hoop of pretending to go to high school; since he'd gotten his GED he had gone on every hunting trip with Dad without having to worry about the school asking questions about his copious absences. Every trip except this one, that was. For whatever reason, _this_ was the hunt that Dean wasn't "experienced enough" for yet. He had his theories that Dad was just going on a tour of Vegas strip clubs (in which case he'd be even more bitter about being left behind), but whatever the case he was stuck playing stay-at-home mom in the motel room. It was not a role that suited him.

"Sammy! Get your ass out here, grub's up," he called in the general direction of the bathroom. The door swung open, and out came Sam balancing a book in one hand and a calculator on the other. The younger boy trudged straight for the door, but Dean stopped him. "Hey, I didn't make your favorite for nothing. Grab some ya ungrateful bitch."

"I didn't ask you to cook for me. Jerk," Sam muttered with a distracted smile. Despite this, he grabbed a fistful of the bacon before jogging out to the bus.

Three weeks ago. Dean was coming back from a fling with a girl he'd met at the bar the previous day. He pushed the door open to find a dead silent room; his little brother was a still lump on his bed. Dean threw his keys and wallet onto the counter top and strolled over; Sammy was dead to the world with half of his body hanging off the mattress. It looked like he'd passed out right after school – his backpack was right next to him and his shoes were still on his feet. Dean rolled his eyes at the goofball. He started to turn away towards the TV, but something caught his attention.

Dean turned back slowly. Sam's face looked even paler than it normally was. This translucent quality made the dark circles under his eyes stand out even more. The older Winchester furrowed his eyebrows. Had his little brother always looked this…fragile? Dean realized he hadn't exactly gone all-out in high school, but he was pretty sure it wasn't supposed to wipe someone out this badly.

Dean was trying to cheer his brother up because he'd seemed sullen. He was planning to take Sam to the shooting range when the high school let out. But while he was waiting in the parking lot, he got a text from Dad. He needed to run some supplies up – apparently the case had taken John to a neighboring town and he was out of silver bullets. Dean cursed as he stuffed his phone back in his pocket. The passenger's side door opened in the middle of this

"What's up?" Sam asked as he slid into his seat.

"I'm a disappointing ass," Dean replied as he tapped on the gas and began to pull out. "Dad needs supplies right now, so I gotta drive 'em down to him. I need to stock up at our room though, so I can drop you off if you want."

Sam nodded, pulling his seat belt across his body. "That's cool, it happens."

"Still, I feel bad. I can't make it back before the range closes, but I won't be too late. We can stop by Biggerson's. _I'm_ sick of my cooking."

Sam waved a hand in dismissal. "Seriously, don't worry about it. I'm swamped in homework anyway."

One week ago. Sam woke up late because his alarm clock had gotten unplugged in the middle of the night. He shot up and bolted to the bathroom to throw on some clothes. Dean chuckled and called out, saying they could drive so that Sam wouldn't be late. He heard a grunt from the other room, so he assumed it was a yes. Dean looked around, trying to find a way to help speed things up. Over by the kitchen area, his brother's school bag lay half open, its contents spilling onto the floor. He made his way over and stooped, grabbing the pack by the handle and hoisting it up. Halfway to his shoulder, something in the bag shifted, causing a book, a notebook, and a dark blue object to tumble out.

When the blue thing hit the floor, it burst in two, scattering its insides in every direction. Dean knitted his eyebrows together in confusion and knelt down to see what was up. Upon further examination, the blue item turned out to be a travel toothbrush container. The insides turned out to be…pills. From the base of the fridge to under the bed, white and blue tablets had rolled into various positions. He slowly picked one up staring at it more closely.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Yeah, I don't think you're the one that gets to ask questions right now," Dean shot back at his brother and stood up to face him. Sam was standing by his bed, the comb in his fist lay forgotten, frozen half-way to his hair.

"You have no right to go through my stuff!"

Dean scoffed. "I wasn't trying to mess with your shit, it spilled out. What are these?"

The younger boy looked down at his feet. "Vitamins."

"Bullshit. What're you on?"

"Nothing, okay? It's nothing," he shot back.

"Yeah, okay. So when he gets back, I can tell Dad you're on nothing?"

Sam's head whipped up and he stalked over to where Dean was standing. He yanked the backpack from his brother's hands and grabbed his school supplies from the ground. "Do whatever you want, I'm going to school," he snarled.

"You aren't driving the car when you're fucked up," Dean said.

"I'm not, I'm walking," he spat before storming out.

Three days ago. Dean wrenched the break up on the Impala and jumped out, slamming the door behind him. He jogged into the school building, blowing past the visitor sign-in desk in the front office and onto the nurse's. He wasn't sure who or what he was mad at, if anything. But anger was easier to process than the crushing worry he felt pressing down on his chest, so that was what he focused on. He stooped next to the cot/bed in the room and looked straight into his brother's eyes.

"What the hell happened?"

Sam took a ragged breath. "I fell down the stairs."

"Bullshit."

He snarled back and pushed himself to a standing position. "No, it's not. People saw, if you want to fucking interview witnesses."

"Don't think I won't," Dean replied.

"I didn't ask them to call you. They say an adult needs to sign me out. Sorry to be a nuisance."

"Don't play that card," the older boy grunted at his brother. "You know that's not how it is. Just show me what I need to sign to get you outta here."

It wasn't until the boys were pulling away in the car that someone spoke again.

"So did your dealer push you down? Is that what this is?"

Sam hunched forward and ran his hands through his hair. "Can we not do this? Please?"

Dean shook his head slowly. "I just wanna know why you're getting involved in this shit. When I get calls saying you're more bruise than body, it becomes my business."

Sam exhaled slowly and rubbed at his eyes. "I've told you, I'm not on drugs."

"Oh, so hoarding pills _isn't_ drugs? Excuse my confusion."

"That's not what this is!" he hollered, losing his patience. "Trust me, okay? It's not what you think."

A thick silence fell over the car. It had been a long time since the boys had been this much at odds. It had always been them against the monsters, them against Dad, them against the world. "You know," Dean said, finally breaking the quiet. "I don't feel like withholding my trust is exactly ridiculous right now."

Those were the last words exchanged between the brothers that day.

Yesterday. The boiling point. The boys were in a fight about Sam's behavior – not at all uncommon as of late. Both were panting, Dean from screaming demands for an explanation, Sam from shrieking that it was no one's business but his own. They stood in the center of the small motel room, squarely facing each other from a handful of feet apart. It was a pure battle of wills, a struggle for dominance. That moment seemed everlasting, the Winchesters staring each other down as if they could find peace in each other's eyes.

Sam broke first. "I'm out of here," he grunted, turning towards the door.

"Like hell you are," Dean said as he closed the distance in a few short strides. He gripped his brother's lower bicep and tugged it in an effort to force Sam to face him. So many things happened in that instant, it was as if time slowed down to allow them all to happen. Sam's knees buckled and his body turned sharply back; a guttural sound, half-gasp half-wince, resonated around the room from his throat; and Dean's face scrunched in confusion as his fingers touched on the other side of Sam's arm. For several unending seconds, the boys stood in that position, Dean staring down in confusion, Sam returning the look from his vulnerable, partially-knelt position.

Everything released at once – the older boy relinquished his grasp as the younger pulled himself to fully standing.

"Sam," he breathed, "what's going on?"

Sam looked down at his feet. "It's fine, I'm fine," he muttered.

"No, you aren't. And I'm getting really scared." Dean saw the defendant's jaw quiver – actually quiver – and he breathed in sharply. "Here," he said as he gently took hold of Sam's arm and led him to the couch. "Sit down and tell me what's up. It'll be okay."

Both boys sat and Sam focused down on his wringing hands. "It's nothing, you'll just freak out. Really, we don't have to do this."

"We're not leaving here until I find out what's wrong with you," his voice softened. "Please, Sammy…"

The younger boy closed his eyes and took a long, unsteady breath. "I guess it started a while ago. Maybe a year and half? Things were kinda crazy, you and Dad were at each other's throats all the time, everyone at the schools I went to harped on me about how I'd never succeed with my grades, it was when it looked like Dad might get busted for the credit card scams…"

"Yeah?" Dean prodded.

Now Sam's leg started to jiggle in addition to his hands wringing. "One day at school I figured, you know, if money might start being a problem soon, I better help save. So I didn't buy lunch that day. Or the next…or the next. I dunno why, but it felt really good. Satisfying. So when the credit card thing worked out fine, I just continued. And then one day I skipped breakfast. And then I stopped having a snack after school. Pretty soon the only time I ate was when I was with you or Dad, and it would've been weird if I didn't. It all got out of control so quickly, and I didn't know how to stop, I didn't wanna stop." He swallowed hard. "I don't wanna stop."

Dean blinked and closed the jaw that he hadn't realized had fallen open. Sammy … didn't … eat. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't put his finger on the last time he'd watched the kid have more than a couple bites. He racked his brain, trying desperately to find something. The bacon! _But,_ came a voice in his head, _you didn't actually see him eat it. He just took it from you and went out the door_. Dean felt like an idiot; the pale skin, the refusal to go to Biggerson's, sleeping all the time. He should've seen it coming from a mile away.

"Sammy, I – you – just," he stuttered, "why?"

He heaved his shoulders up and let them fall in a shrug. "I don't know. It feels good. _I_ feel good. Me, this freakish sasquatch body, feels nice when it's empty. Pure."

He could hardly believe what he was hearing. "Oh. But then, how'd you get hurt at school?"

Sam actually smiled a little. "I was telling the truth with that one, actually. I did fall down the stairs. It's just…I passed out. But," he said hurriedly, "It looked a lot worse than it is. I bruise easily nowadays."

"Wh-what're the pills?" Sam opened his eyes and muttered something into his chest. "What?" Dean asked.

"Blue ones are diet pills," he said loudly as he tilted his head up to look at the ceiling. "White ones are laxatives."

Dean stood up. "Where are they?"

Sam looked at him in confusion. "What?"

"Where are your pills? They need to go."

"No," the younger one said, his pitch rising in panic. "You can't."

"Damn right I can! This needs to stop."

"No."

Dean's eyes shrank in a squint; he couldn't believe his ears. "What did you say?"

Sam rose to standing – from this short of a distance, he had to crane his neck down to see his brother. "You can't take this away from me."

Dean's jaw set in response. "Yes, I can. Where's your bag, I'm getting your toothbrush case."

"I moved them," he said defiantly. "They're in my locker."

"Then we go to the school."

"Dean! You're being ridiculous, calm down!"

"I am not," he said, closing the distance between him and his brother in a single step, "being ridiculous. I hear that my baby brother is starving to death, blacking out, tumbling down staircases. I'd have to be an idiot to let that slide. We're going to the school. I'll break in if I have to."

"You can't do this to me!" he grunted. "This is exactly why I didn't want to tell you. I knew you'd freak out. I'm FINE."

"You have to be kidding me right now. It's like you want to fucking die." Dean spat.

He went dead silent. "I'm trying," he whispered. "You have to believe me."

"Sure doesn't seem like it! You've given up! If you won't take care of yourself, I will."

Sam raised a fist before quickly lowering it. His jaw jutted forward and his eyes went wide. "You can't take this away from me!" he shouted, an almost guttural rip from the back of his throat.

"Watch me," Dean whispered, turning towards the door. He grabbed his keys and wallet, and even got as far as sliding on his shoes. His hand was hovering over the door handle before a worry started gnawing at the back of his mind; why wasn't Sam fighting him anymore. He looked back over his shoulder and dropped the objects he was carrying in surprise. His brother was standing still; his eyes squeezed shut and a hand thrown out for balance. Dean rushed over.

"Hey, what's going on? Are you okay?"

Sam nodded slightly. "Light headed. It'll pass."

Dean wrapped his arms up around his brother's shoulders and gently lowered him to a seated position on the couch. Sam leaned into him, tucking his head into the wider boy's shoulder crevice like they'd done when they were little.

"Shh Sammy, take a breath, it'll be okay," he whispered. "It'll be okay."

Then there'd been today – the bitter argument they'd had when Sam refused to eat. The fight that ended in screaming, cursing, and Sam locking himself in the bathroom. The reason Dean was standing in an empty motel room remembering all the red flags he'd missed over the last month. He takes a slow breath and begins to pace. What the hell was he supposed to do?

Dean strides over to the bathroom and knocks.

"One second," Comes a chocked call from within.

"No," Dean says. "I hope you have clothes on, I'm coming in."

He swings the door open to reveal his brother on his knees, bent over the toilet. Both boys curse. Dean couldn't believe how dumb he'd been. Again. He rushes over and kneels down next to the shaking, skinny figure. He tries to avoid looking at the contents of the toilet, but his eyes accidentally swipe past it. To his surprise, it isn't vomit covering the bowl. It's a sprinkling of blue and white tablets. As tears spill over his eyes, Sam slowly raises his arm and presses down hard on the handle.

"I'm trying. I really am."


End file.
